Tracing an ever wider spiral,
The Hunt circles the world of mortals.
Everything decays in the centrifugal vortex,
Pure anarchy rages over the world.
The winds of war swell on blood,
Flooding the rites of ancient innocence.
The best lose all hope, and the worst
Revel in fervent and fitful power.
Looking glass images without heart or mind
Haunt the worlds in the name of those,
Who have preserved blood from blood,
And feed on unrestrained lust.